


One Sane Choice

by Tylanoid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Castelobruxo, F/M, M/M, Mahoutokoro, Original Character(s), Uagadou
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-02 02:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14534355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tylanoid/pseuds/Tylanoid
Summary: Voldemort won’t rest until he’s dead. Dumbledore wants to steer him towards a confrontation which will probably end with that exact outcome. Faced with two impossible choices, Harry does what any sane person would do. He runs.AUFic, Harry goes to Uagadou fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 

Of all the people Harry might expect to be in his room at Privet Drive, Severus Snape is not one of them. 

His thin, sallow features are leaning over him, hands gripping both shoulders as he shakes him. True to form, he’s not gentle. 

“Potter! Get up!”

It would be strange for Snape to be in his dorm room at Hogwarts, but at Privet Drive? It’s downright bizarre. 

“Snape?” Harry slurs, reaching over to his bedside table for his glasses. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Snape doesn’t even bother to chide him for the lack of respect. Whatever he’s there for, it’s important. 

“Get dressed and pack your things. You’re leaving,” he says. 

Harry rubs the sleep from his eyes. 

The one night I don’t dream about Sirius’ death and I get woken up.

“What are you talking about? Dumbledore said-” Harry begins. 

“Will you listen to me for once in your worthless life?” Snape hisses. 

Scowling, Harry throws the blankets off, ignoring the lack of privacy. He quickly dresses. 

“What’s going on? Has something happened? Is everyone all right?” Harry asks, shoving his wand into the waistband of his jeans. With Voldemort back and out into the open once more, what other reason could there be for his presence?

“Just pack your things! Try not to wake your relatives. This will go much easier if they don’t notice you’re gone.”

With a roll of his eyes and a huff, Harry drags out his suitcase and begins packing.

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going? Hogwarts? The Burrow?”

“You move slower than a flobberworm doused with Drowsiness Draught,” Snape says irritably, ignoring the question. With a wave of his wand, Harry’s belongings fold and pack themselves neatly away. 

“Now, hurry up, we’re leaving.”

This is all way too suspicious…

Harry reaches for his wand. Snape beats him to it. 

“Petrificus Totalus.”

Harry’s body stiffens like ice and he falls backwards helplessly onto his bed. 

Snape looms over him.

“If I was going to harm you, I would have done it while you were still asleep, idiot child!”

Well, that’s true.

“Now, for once, can you follow simple instructions?” 

Harry couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. 

Snape pinches the bridge of his long nose. “I’m going to release you, and if you reach for your wand again, I will feed you potions that will force your compliance. It will not be comfortable,” he promises. 

“Finite Incantatem.”

The spell releases, and Harry sits up, scowling. He doesn’t reach for his wand again. 

“Now, get out your invisibility cloak, then follow me with your trunk and that blasted bird.”

This time, Harry doesn’t argue. He follows Snape down into the kitchen. Snape levitates his trunk and Hedwig’s cage down the stairs so they don’t wake his aunt and uncle. 

“So, where are we going?” Harry whispers, trying to sound more polite this time. Much as he hates the man, he’d much rather find out what’s going on than pick a fight. 

“Diagon Alley.”

Harry wants to ask a million questions, the most pertinent being why, but no doubt Snape wouldn’t deign it necessary to answer. 

Still, he has to say something. 

“But it’s nearly two o’clock in the morning! Nobody will even be there!” 

It seems to take all Snape’s willpower not to snap back at him. 

“That’s exactly why we’re going now,” he says. “And Gringotts is open twenty-four hours a day.”

Harry follows Snape out the back door of the house. 

“Why aren’t we going out the front?”

“Must you ask so many incessant questions?” Snape grumbles. “I want to make sure we’re not seen, even by that squib across the road.”

Does that mean Dumbledore doesn’t even know Snape is here? If Harry was suspicious before, then he’s even more tempted to pull out his wand again, now. But even with his back turned, Harry has no doubt that Snape could incapacitate him just as easily as he had a few minutes ago. 

Besides, if Snape wanted to harm him, it’s the strangest, most roundabout way of doing so, especially since he had to wake Harry in the first place.

Might as well see what’s going on.

At the end of the backyard, Snape spells a hole in the fence, and urges Harry to climb through. When he does, Snape follows, and casts a quick reparo to fix it from the other side. Clearly, he’s taking them outside the wards. 

“Take it,” Snape says, holding out his left arm. 

With his free hand, the one not dragging his trunk and Hedwig, Harry reaches out to grab the outstretched arm. 

And then they’re spinning. 

When they stop, Harry staggers away and promptly vomits onto the stone pavement of Diagon Alley. 

“Most people regurgitate upon first apparition, especially side-apparition,” Snape explains, completely unsympathetic. 

Harry wipes at his mouth. 

“You could have warned me,” he growls. 

Snape shrugs. “Wouldn’t have changed the outcome.”

Harry shakes his head, but manages to squash his anger. 

“I need you to follow my next instructions very carefully,” Snape says. “Take your cloak and wear it all the way up to Gringotts. It’s very important that you aren’t seen.”

Harry almost tells him that there’s not exactly going to be crowds of people around at this time of night, but ultimately it seems pointless. It’s not like arguing with Snape has ever gotten him anywhere. 

“Be careful not to wear the cloak inside the bank. The goblins won’t take kindly to it. Take it off at the front steps. Go to your vault and take out enough to transfer to about fifteen-thousand muggle pounds.”

“Wait, you want me to transfer galleons to muggle money? Why-”

Snape lifts a hand. “No questions, just do it.”

Harry sighs and nods. 

“Then, make your way back here.”

With a shrug, Harry throws the cloak over his shoulders and makes his way towards the bank. 

 

* * *

 

“Really? A Muggle hotel?”

“What part of ‘don’t want to be seen’ do you not understand?” Snape asks. “Nobody is going to be looking for you in muggle London.”

“But you still haven’t told me why we can’t be!” Harry stresses. 

Snape shakes his head. “You must be the most impatient person I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing.”

When Harry goes to open his mouth again, Snape keeps talking. 

“Just get the room, and I’ll explain.”

Feeling more irritable by every second spent with the greasy potions master, Harry walks up to the desk. 

It’s not the flashiest hotel in the world, which is probably the exact reason Snape picked it. 

If the bored looking clerk is surprised to see a sixteen year old boy booking his own room at two o’clock in the morning, he doesn’t show it. He simply takes Harry’s money and gives him a room key for the third floor. 

Snape follows him up, even going so far as to help him with his trunk. 

The room itself isn’t much, just a double bed and a TV mounted on the wall. Harry doesn’t waste any time dumping his belongings onto the floor and turning towards Snape. 

“Explain,” he orders. While it’s clear by now that Snape isn’t trying to harm him, the need for secrecy, apparently even from Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, has him more suspicious than ever. 

Snape gingerly places Hedwig’s cage down in the corner. 

“Sit,” he orders, motioning towards the bed. 

Harry just stares at him, until Snape motions once more towards the bed. Clearly, he’s not going to get answers until he does as Snape asks, and Harry throws up his hands in surrender and sits. 

“Don’t interrupt me until I’m done. I have alot to tell you, and it will be difficult enough without you butting in the whole time.”

Harry nods. 

“Yesterday evening I had a conversation with the headmaster,” Snape begins. “A conversation about you, and about the Dark Lord.” 

Harry screws up his nose at the use of his enemy’s self-given title, but he doesn’t interrupt. 

“He told me about what happened that night in Godric’s hollow.” 

“If this is about the prophecy, Dumbledore already told me,” Harry says. 

“Didn’t I tell you not to interrupt?” Snape snarls. “And if you believe that Albus has told you everything, then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought you were.”

Harry eyes him warily. He’s never heard any teacher speak that way about the headmaster. As far as he could tell, they all thought that he was completely infallible. 

“Understand, I have a great deal of respect for him. He is a brilliant wizard, but that does not mean that I agree with all his decisions. There is one in particular that he revealed to me that I cannot abide.” 

“On the night that the Dark Lord cast the killing curse, and it rebounded, a part of himself lingered behind, and it clung to the only living thing it could find.” 

Harry gulps. 

“A part of the Dark Lord lives inside you, Potter.”

He doesn’t want to believe it, but it just makes too much sense, like puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. 

The reason he can speak parseltongue… the reason he can see into Voldemort’s head - it’s all become abundantly clear. Not only that, but Dumbledore has known the entire time, had alluded to it right after the events in the Chamber of Secrets. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Harry announces, cupping his hands over his mouth before rushing towards the bathroom. 

He vomits for the second time that night. 

Harry rolls from where he’s kneeling in front of the toilet until his back is pressed against the wall, and he puts his face into his knees. 

Snape is standing in the doorway. 

“That’s why he didn’t die, isn’t it?” Harry asks softly. “I’m the reason he’s still alive?” 

When Snape answers, it’s low and soft, almost sympathetic, though still a long way from being comforting. 

“I don’t think that’s a fair assessment to make.”

“Isn’t it? If I was dead, would the part of him that’s in me die as well? Could he have come back? Is that why he needed my blood to return?”

Snape lets out a long breath. “I’m not going to pretend to have all the answers, but I will say that I do not believe that the part of the Dark Lord that lives in you is the only part of him out there.”

“But if I were to die, the part of Voldemort that lives in me would die as well?”

Snape glares. “Do all you Gryffindor’s have rotted brains? Not everything requires a foolishly noble self sacrifice! I just told you that I find it highly unlikely that it’s the only piece of him out there, so even if you were to die, he would still live!”

“But eventually, I’m going to have to… die, for him to be defeated?”

Snape pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Save me from the idiocy of Gryffindors,” he mutters. “How about instead we focus on ridding you of it?”

Harry hesitates. 

“Is it even possible? Wouldn’t Dumbledore have already done it if it were?”

“Why do you think I’m here? Dumbledore has accepted what he thinks must be - that you must die for Voldemort to be defeated. I disagree.”

Harry feels the sting of betrayal, but at the same time, he can understand the logic. After all, hadn’t it just led him to the same conclusion?

“But you know a way to get it out?” Harry asks disbelievingly. 

“…No, but I’ve yet to see any evidence that it cannot be done. In fact, I rather believe that it can.”

“But Dumbledore is the strongest wizard-”

“He is not perfect, Potter, no matter how much some people may think. He does not know everything about magic.” 

Harry drops his head back against the wall with a thud. 

“So Dumbledore wants me dead, and you want me to live. What a world…” 

“He doesn’t want you dead, Potter,” Snape clarifies. “But he has come to the conclusion that for the Dark Lord to be fully vanquished, your eventual death is of paramount importance.”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m struggling to see the difference,” Harry complains bitterly.

“Like I said before, I respect the headmaster, but I don’t agree with all his decisions. I would have you live.”

Harry climbs back to his feet to look Snape in the eye. 

“Why? After all these years am I supposed to believe suddenly that you don’t hate me?”

“No, I do hate you. My reasons for wanting you alive are my own.” Snape stares him down unflinchingly. 

“Not good enough. I want to talk to Dumbledore.”

“Are you really so dense?” he sneers. 

“It’s not like he would hurt me. Even if I have to die for Voldemort to die, he won’t be the one to do it. He’s still Dumbledore.”

“Of course he won’t hurt you, stupid child. He’s dangerous in an altogether different way. His machinations have led you to this point in your life, and rest assured, they will lead to your death if they are let continue unimpeded.” 

“Then what am I supposed to do? Avoid him forever? Not return to Hogwarts?”

He’s being sarcastic, but the look on Snape’s face tells him that’s exactly his plan. 

“Absolutely not. Hogwarts is my home,” Harry says firmly. 

“Between the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore, it might as well be your coffin. The Dark Lord will not rest until you are dead, and Dumbledore will not rest until the Dark Lord is defeated, and he is convinced that you must die for that to be a reality. Tell me, how do you expect to escape the fate that two of the most powerful and influential wizards in the world have set out for you?”

The words hit him like a confundus charm. He’s been through more emotions in the past ten minutes than in the past week, and the thoughts bouncing around in his head feel like enough to crack straight through his skull. 

“This is insane,” Harry announces, pushing past Snape and heading back towards the bed. He lays back on it to stare at the roof. He can feel Snape’s eyes watching him from the other side of the room. 

“You have only one sane choice, Potter. You have to leave.”

“And where the hell would I go?”

“Somewhere neither Dumbledore or the Dark Lord can find you, obviously.”

Harry shakes his head. 

“I’m not going to cut and run. I’m no coward. I’m not going to run away and let my friends fight my war for me.”

Snape storms across the room and grabs him by the collar, forcing him into a sitting position. 

“For you? You think people are fighting this war for you?” Snape’s magic billows around him, an invisible barrier of power. “Are you so arrogant to believe that you are the only reason people stand against the Dark Lord? Does your tiny mind even comprehend that this is bigger than you? We are all at risk, and that is true whether you are here or not.”

“All the more reason for me to stay and fight beside them!” Harry argues. They’re almost nose to nose, now, both red and blotchy with rage. 

Snape is the first to back down. “This isn’t helping,” he decides. “I’m not asking you to stay out of this war forever. I am asking you to leave and find a way to rid yourself of the piece of the Dark Lord living inside you. I am asking you to study, and to become powerful enough to finally end the Dark Lord. The Prophecy names you as the chosen one? Become worthy of it!” 

That’s something he’d been intending to do anyway. He’s been able to think of little else since term ended. The prophecy states that neither can live while the other survives, but how is he supposed to be able to kill one of the most powerful and skilled wizards who has ever lived? In his current state, it seems impossible. 

“Is this why you’re helping me? You’re relying on the word of a prophecy that I’ll come and kill Voldemort for you?” 

Snape growls. “Your arrogance truly knows no bounds. I told you, my reasons are my own.”

Harry shakes his head. “No. If you want me to do this, you need to give me a proper reason.”

Snape glares, more vicious than Harry can ever remember. 

“I’m not helping you. You’re right, if it was up to me, I could care less whether you live or die. I help you because of your mother.”

“My mother?” Harry tries to ask. 

“That is all I will speak of this,” Snape says, enunciating heavily. His lips are pressed tight together, and there’s no doubt that he means what he says. He will not say another word about it. 

My mother? He knew her? Were they friends?

“I am tired of this conversation. I have done all I can do persuade you to my way of thinking. If you decide to do as I say, still be here in the morning, and I will assist you further. If not, don’t.”

Without another word, Snape turns on his heels and leaves. 

 

* * *

 

Harry doesn’t get a wink of sleep. He knows its stupid, but it’s like he can feel Voldemort’s broken soul inside of him, like a pussy sore growing in his head. 

It’s a strange sensation, arguing with one’s self, but Harry has been doing it for hours. Somehow he’s reached the point where it’s both selfish to leave, and selfish to stay. 

One the one hand, if he leaves, it’s like he’s running away, leaving the Weasleys and Hermione behind in a war-torn community. 

On the other, if he stays, there’s really very little he can do. He is talented at defensive magic, but he’s just a sixth year, and his opponent knows incredibly powerful, dark magic, and is probably the most skilled wizard to ever live. How can Harry compete with that? At least if he leaves it gives him a chance to study away from the chaos, as well as to try to find a way to get rid of Voldemort from his head. 

Snape doesn’t return until just after eight in the morning. He has heavy bags under his eyes, and his movements are slow and ragged. 

“You’re still here,” Snape says, his eyebrow raised in an arc. 

Harry shrugs. “You made a compelling argument.”

Someone steps into the room behind the potions master. 

“What the hell? What is he doing here?” Harry yells. 

“Nice to see you too, Potter,” Draco Malfoy drawls sarcastically. He’s dragging a black trunk behind him, his initials inscribed on the top in ornate silver letters. 

Why does he have…

“No. Absolutely not,” Harry says. There’s only one reason Malfoy would bring his belongings with him. 

“And here I was so excited for a roadtrip,” Malfoy’s voice is practically oozing disdain. “I told you this was a bad idea, Severus.”

“Both of you, shutup.”

“His father’s a death eater!”

“Yes, and Draco is here to avoid the same fate,” Snape explains. 

“Bullshit. He’s been acting like a mini death-eater for as long as I’ve known him.”

“Really? When was the last time I tried to murder you?” Malfoy asks dryly. 

Harry ignores him. 

“You can’t seriously think this is a good idea,” Harry says. 

“Seconded,” Malfoy agrees. It would be surprising to hear Malfoy agree with him if it were literally anything other than them stating their dislike of one another. 

Snape mutters under his breath, a curse that sounds suspiciously like the word ‘teenagers’. 

“Actually, I do think it’s a good idea. Both of you need to disappear, and for very similar reasons and from the same people. It make perfect logical sense to go together.”

“Except for the fact that we will probably kill each other,” Harry adds. 

“Sometimes I wonder if you are actually capable of coherent thought,” Snape glowers. “It doesn’t matter how much you get along, or rather don’t. What is important is that you are both in the same predicament, and that you can keep each other safe.” 

“Oh good, going into hiding with just Malfoy for company,” Harry groans. “I think I’d prefer you came along.” 

“Not possible. You know that my position within the order is too important.”

“I was kidding,” Harry stresses. “I don’t want you to come any more than him,” Harry motions towards Malfoy. 

“Merlin save me, you are just too warm and fluffy,” Malfoy jokes. 

“Draco, be quiet,” Snape orders. 

Surprisingly, Malfoy obeys. If he were any other Hogwarts teacher, Harry’s sure he wouldn’t be nearly so respectful. 

“So, you agree?” Snape asks, leveling a serious eye on him. 

“Yes, fine, I agree,” Harry says quickly, though in truth, he’s still far from certain. He’s not sure if in this situation there even is a right decision. “What do we do from here?”

Snape lets out a sigh of relief. Evidently, he hadn’t believed Harry would actually listen. 

“From here, it’s up to you. It’s safer if I don’t know where you’re going. To that end, I’ve procured these for you.”

Snape reaches inside his robe and pulls out two small, maroon booklets. Official British passports. 

“How did you get those?” Harry asks, taking the one offered him just as Malfoy takes the other. 

On the inside is a clear picture of Harry, along with his name and address, though he has no memory of any photo ever being taken. 

“It doesn’t matter. They are official. You have your freedom, use it wisely,” Snape says, turning around to leave. 

“Wait!” Harry calls before he reaches the door. “Won’t Dumbledore be suspicious of you?”

Snape scowls. “As soon as I return to Hogwarts, I will be taking a forgetfulness potion. I will have no memory of any of this. Even if he is suspicious, I cannot reveal information I do not know.”

Snape doesn’t do anything by halves…

Again without another word, Snape walks out, leaving Harry alone in the hotel room with Malfoy. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

They’re left standing in front of each other in the middle of the muggle hotel room. In his wildest dreams, Harry could never have imagined he’d be in this situation.

“So, what did Severus say to get the gilded hero to want to run with his tail tucked between his legs?” Draco asks, breaking the awkward silence. He typical smug smirk is stamped onto his pointy face.

It’s all Harry can do not to step forward and punch him. If it wasn’t for the relief that Draco has to ask the question at all, he might have done exactly that. After all, if he needs to ask, that means Snape never told him, and Harry would prefer that _nobody_ knows that there’s a part of Voldemort living inside him.

But relief isn’t enough to stop him from arguing back.

“Takes one to know one. I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re here. Even with your entire family involved, you’re still too much of a coward to fight for your beliefs.”

For a very brief second, Draco looks surprised. Then he snarls, showing white teeth behind pulled back lips. His wand drops into his hand out of a holster kept on his forearm.

“You don’t know what you’re on about,” he hisses.

As always, Draco is happy to dish out the insults, but when it comes to taking them, he loses control.

“And neither do you,” Harry snaps back. “Now put that away before you do something that’ll get us caught before we even decide where we’re going.”

Draco glares, but with a huff he lifts his sleeve and snaps the wand back into his holster. Even angry, Draco isn’t stupid. Magic is utterly out of the question for both of them. They both still have the trace, so even the most minor spell will make their escape all but impossible.

Harry sits back on the bed, letting his head drop backwards in frustration.

“I can’t _believe_ I’m stuck with you,” he groans.

“Believe it or not, this isn’t a dream come true for me, either.”

Neither of them wants to admit the truth out loud. They need to find a way to work together, and they’re both too stubborn to listen to the other after years of bitter rivalry.

_One of us has to give in first_ _…_

It might as well be him. Merlin knows it’ll be a miracle if he can get Draco to adhere to any of his opinions.

“It won’t be long before people notice we’re gone, so we need to make a plan,” Harry says. He takes a deep breath before he continues. “Do _you_ have any ideas?”

Draco’s eyes open wide, as if he can’t believe that Harry is actually asking _him_. Not that he ever would, but Harry would be just as surprised if Draco had done the same thing.

“Well, obviously we can’t stay in Britain. Even if we lived as muggles in the middle of nowhere there would be too great a chance of discovery. Even if we did something like that, we’d have to live like muggles, and I will _not_ live like a muggle, and I’m not giving up my education,” Draco says firmly.

Harry rolls his eyes, more at Draco’s petulance than because he disagrees.

“Obviously,” Harry says. “I don’t want to live like a muggle, either.”

_Or can_ _’t afford to. Not if I want to learn enough to defeat Voldemort for good._

Malfoy’s lips twist back into a smirk, and Harry knows even before he speaks that he’s about to insult him.

“What would Dumbledore think if knew that his prized golden boy wasn’t the champion of muggles like he is?”

There would normally be no chance that Harry can ignore a taunt from the blonde, but right now, Dumbledore would be almost the last person he would want to defend.

Draco looks deflated when Harry presses on as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

“So Britain is out of the question, but we still need to learn magic. What about Durmstrang or Beauxbatons?”

Draco shakes his head. “The Dark Lord has contacts at both. Hell, they found Karkaroff a few days ago based on information coming out of Durmstrang, so how long would _we_ last? I think all of Europe might be out of the question. There’s no telling how far his influence reaches.”

_All of Europe?_ If it wasn’t out of the mouth of someone so connected to the Death Eaters, Harry would never believe it. How can someone so twisted and evil have so many followers?

Harry sighs. “So that already takes out three of the best wizarding schools in the world.”

Draco wags a finger. “But not _all_ the wizarding schools. They might be the best in Europe, but there are eleven major wizarding schools throughout the world, and only three of them are completely out of the question.”

_There are eleven?_ Far from the first time, Harry curses his muggle upbringing. If Draco weren’t here, Harry might easily have gone to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. Draco’s presence simply fills a void of knowledge that Harry has about the wizarding world.

“Or maybe you could say _four_ are out of the question,” Draco adds after a moment. “Koldovstoretz is still technically in Europe, though I’d say Russia is far enough away to be out of the Dark Lord’s reach.”

“Then why is it out of the question?”

“I can barely handle the winters at Hogwarts, let alone in Russia,” Draco says.

Harry gives him a look.

Draco shrugs. “What? I don’t like the cold. Anyway, there are better schools out there than Koldovstoretz.”

Harry stops himself from another eye roll.

“Any others that we definitely _can_ _’t_ go to?”

Draco taps his chin thoughtfully. “Ilvermorny in America might not be such a great idea. The British and American ministries have a strong relationship, so I highly doubt that our location would be a guaranteed secret.”

Harry hates that he really has nothing to offer, and he has to completely defer to Draco’s judgement.

“You clearly know more about the other schools than I do,” Harry admits, though it’s difficult to admit any sort of weakness to Malfoy of all people. “I think _you_ should pick where we go.”

Draco makes a sort of choking noise, but recovers himself.

“Yes, well,” he says, looking away. “I think that would be best.” If he’s judging Harry on his lack of knowledge about the wizarding world, he doesn’t say it.

“So of the six schools left open to us, where do you think we should go?”

“There’s alot of good schools around the world, some of them older and with better reputations than Hogwarts, but I think the best would have to be Uagadou, in Uganda,” Draco says. “It’s definitely the biggest, and the oldest, too. I think if we went to the African ministry they might keep us a secret under the right of asylum.”

_The right of asylum?_

“Um, right,” Harry says. He’s already admitted one gap in his knowledge to his longtime nemesis, and he’s not about to admit another.

“So you’re okay with going to Africa? It’s a long way, and they may not speak much English. Merlin knows how we’re even going to _get_ there,” Draco says.

Harry shrugs. “Getting there is the easy part.” He holds his passport up in front of him.

Malfoy looks down to the passport in his hands and begins turning it over. “What exactly are these? When did Severus take this picture of me? Why doesn’t it move?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Because muggle photos _don_ _’t_ move - it’s just a passport, Malfoy, nothing overly exciting.”

“A passport?” He gives it an experimental flick. “Is this some of that muggle technology I’ve heard about? What’s it do?”

“Allow you to _pass ports?_ Honestly, Malfoy, it’s just identification muggles use to travel between countries.”

“Why would I need-” Draco blanches with the realisation. “Severus expects me to travel _like a muggle,_ doesn’t he.”

Harry wouldn’t have thought that Draco’s pale skin could get any whiter. Evidently, he was wrong.

Harry starts to laugh before covering it with a cough. Draco glares.

“We could always go by broomstick?” Draco suggests in a quiet voice that makes Harry think he already knows it’s not an option.

“Sure, if you’re feeling particularly suicidal.” Both of them are strong fliers, and have some of the best brooms money can buy, but over such a distance, and across open ocean where the weather can change in a heartbeat? It’s far too dangerous. Not to mention highly illegal. Even if it was a possibility, they’d have to go at night so as not to be seen by any muggles.

“So you consider a broom suicidal, but you’re happy to get into one of those giant metal birds?” Draco asks, still looking so white he might as well be ethereal.

“It’s called a _plane,_ Malfoy, and you’ve got a greater chance of being in a car crash than a plane crash.”

Malfoy crosses his arms firmly. “Well, you won’t catch me getting into one of _those_ , either.”

Harry lets out a long breath. _Malfoy certainly isn_ _’t going to make this easy._

* * *

 

“Can you slow down?” Draco yells from the back seat of the taxi. His knuckles are pure white from how hard he grips the door side hand rest.

Harry is laughing, almost uncontrollably so. They’re still well below the speed limit, but he’s never seen anyone look as terrified as what Malfoy does from riding in a slowly moving car.

In any other situation, Malfoy would undoubtably be defending his honour with vigour, especially since it’s Harry who’s laughing at him, but he seems unable to focus on anything but surviving his current _‘plight.’_

Harry catches the confused eye of the driver in the rear-view mirror.

“Sorry about him,” Harry says, struggling through his laughter. “He’s led a very sheltered life.”

The driver shrugs, but doesn’t say anything as he turns onto a roundabout, causing Draco to let out a very un-Malfoylike shriek and shut his eyes tight.

As they get closer to the airport, a large plane flies over the car towards the runway, the jet engine noise loud enough to silence Harry’s laughing.

“As if this isn’t bad enough,” Draco says once the noise has subsided, “now you want me to get in one of _those?_ ”

“We got to the airport easily enough, didn’t we?” Harry asks. “Nothing to it.”

“We’re not actually there yet,” Malfoy mumbles quietly, probably to himself. “This stupid box of metal on wheels could still go up in a ball of flames any second as far as I’m concerned.”

As expected, that doesn’t happen. The taxi driver drops them off at the airport entrance, and Draco practically leaps out the door once it comes to a complete stop.

Harry pays the driver and steps calmly out of the taxi, moving to the back of the car and retrieving his and Draco’s trunks.

“Are you sure Hedwig is fine in there?” Harry asks, motioning towards Draco’s trunk.

Unlike Harry’s very regular case, Draco’s is upgraded with undetectable extension charms and expanded with wizarding space. It’s also been charmed with anti-muggle detection spells. To a muggle, nothing should seem amiss. 

“Aquila pretty much lives in there,” Draco says. “It’s never been a problem.”

_Such a pretentious name for an owl._ Harry knows from his astronomy classes that Aquila is a constellation - something to do with an eagle.

“So now what?” Draco asks. “If we have to get on one of these bloody things, I’d rather get it over with.”

Harry doesn’t answer, he just drags his trunk behind him and steps inside, motioning for Draco to follow.

Inside is a large board of incoming and outcoming flights.

“Where is the African ministry?” Harry asks, turning to Draco. He’s not even slightly paying attention. Instead, he’s gazing around the large room like he’s found himself on an alien planet.

Harry waves a hand in front of his face. “Hey! Where is the African ministry?”

“Alexandria,” he says simply, not even turning to look in his direction. Instead he’s distracted by tiny details that Harry doesn’t even notice.

Luckily, there is a flight to Alexandria leaving in just a few hours. Harry drags the bewildered Draco along to the desk for British Airways.

Harry is increasingly nervous as the clerk organises their tickets and checks their passports. Snape had assured that they were official, but does Snape even know what that really means? Would Draco even register as a citizen, having grown up totally in the wizarding world?

But the clerk waves them through, taking their suitcases and telling them that their flight leaves in a few hours and which gate they need to go to. Harry’s only guess is that Snape must have confunded some sort of official in order to get their paperwork sorted.

“Can we really trust these muggles with our belongings?” Draco asks as they walk towards the customs area.

“So long as _your_ bag definitely has anti-muggle charms, yes,” Harry says. It seems enough of an answer for Draco.

When they find themselves in customs, Harry has to drag Draco aside.

“You have to do whatever the customs people say, alright? No questions asked,” Harry says firmly.

“Yes, yes, I know. You made that very clear when you forced me to put my wand in my trunk,” Draco says irritably.

While Harry has never been in an airport before, he knows at least that airports have some of the strictest security in the world. They’d easily discover anything they have hidden on them, like a wand, or if they ended up going through their luggage, anything strange, like magical textbooks. Harry just hopes dearly that the charms on Malfoy’s luggage hold even under muggle technology. Magic often behaves erratically around technology, so there’s no real guarantee.

But nothing really holds them up going through customs. They both have to remove their belts and Draco an expensive watch, but the security lets them pass without any hassles.

“I really thought you were going to argue when they made you take off that watch,” Harry says.

Draco purses his lips. “If they hadn’t given it back, I would have. My mother gave it to me.” He says it with such longing in his voice that it’s clear he doesn’t really want to leave his family behind.

Harry hesitates for a moment before speaking. Things are relatively peaceful between them at the moment, more peaceful than they’ve _ever_ been, really, but he’s too curious not to ask what he wants to.

“Malfoy, why are you here? What makes you want to leave?”

He looks up, and for a moment Harry thinks he’s about to give an honest answer. Then he scowls. “Why are you?”

_Translation - you first._

So Harry says nothing, and they continue further into the airport.

 

* * *

 

“This is _not_ food,” Draco argues loudly.

_Deep breaths, Harry._

“What, you’ve never had a hamburger before?” Harry asks, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

He’s trying desperately to be patient with him, since he’s never ventured into the muggle world before, but if Draco complains any more Harry’s not convinced he’ll be accountable for his own actions.

He doesn’t mind the plethora of questions that Draco asks with every new sight, but when every single one has undertones of utter disdain for muggles, they become more than a little tiresome.

“Oh, I’ve had hamburgers, but that’s not what this is.”

“It’s a Big Mac, Malfoy, just eat it.”

Malfoy eyes it warily, scanning it from all sides.

“That is definitely not real beef,” he decides absolutely. “And it’s crooked. How hard is it to stack ingredients on top of each other?”

Harry scoffs. “Says the guy who’s probably never cooked a meal in his entire life.”

Draco holds a hand to his chest in mock offence. “I’m wounded. I’ll have you know that I’m a terrific cook. Everybody should know how to prepare their own meal.”

“Oh right,” Harry says. “When was the last time you cooked for yourself instead of having a house elf do it for you?”

Draco purses his lips, but doesn’t answer. In Harry’s eyes, that’s answer enough.

Eventually, Draco takes a bite. He chews slowly, testing out the flavour. He examines the rest of it before taking another bite, this time far more confident.

Harry hides an amused smile behind his own meal. More than anything it makes him wish he were here with Ron, instead, introducing his best friend to something so very muggle. He’s sure they’d have a great time of it. Even if this is currently entertaining, in the back of his mind he simply can’t forget that this is _Malfoy_ he’s with.

By the time they’re finished eating, Draco seems to be feeling a range of different emotions, confusion chief among them.

“I stand by that that is not proper beef,” Draco maintains. “But it wasn’t _completely_ awful. I just can’t understand _why._ ”

“Most muggles tend not to question it,” Harry says.

Malfoy screws up his nose, presumably at the idea of being lumped in with muggles in any way at all.

“From now on, we eat regular food,” Draco says, confirming Harry’s suspicion. One minute he’s saying that it wasn’t terrible, the next he’s refusing to eat it because its associated with muggles.

Harry grabs him by the wrist and drags him away.

“Just come on.”

The flight is still an hour off leaving, but Harry wanted to explore a little rather than wait at the gate, a decision he’s very much regretting having had to drag Draco along with him.

“I thought you said that muggle pictures don’t move,” Draco asks, though it sounds more like he’s accusing Harry of lying to him.

When Harry looks, he finds Draco staring at a TV situated on one of the walls. It’s playing a continuous ad for one of the airline companies.

“They don’t,” Harry says. “That’s a TV. It’s a video, not a picture.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Believe it or not Malfoy, I’m not an expert on all things muggle. They’re just different.”

“But _how_ are they different?”

Harry finally turns to face him directly.

“Why do you even _care?_ You’ve spent the last several years calling Hermione a mudblood because you hate muggles so much, so why are you so interested?”

The words seem to take Malfoy by surprise.

“I don’t know…” he says, “I guess this is just not what I was expecting.”

“What, you were expecting them to be uncultured, unintelligent animals? You thought they’d be huddled around fires and stewing in their own filth? Well guess what, Malfoy, muggles are _ahead_ of wizards. I wouldn’t live any other way than as a wizard, but stepping into Hogwarts was like stepping a hundred years into the past. Wizards are not as superior to muggles as what you think,” Harry snaps.

Draco scoffs. “You can’t possibly mean that. You know they used to burn us at the stake, right?”

Harry almost laughs out loud. “ _Three hundred **years**_ ago, you twit. Things have changed quite a bit since then.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Malfoy says disbelievingly.

Harry waves his hands around him. “You _are_ seeing it. Do you know why these airports have so much security? To stop anyone who might bring harm to the people of Britain from entering the country, and to protect other nations from anyone dangerous who might want to bring harm to them. In Alexandria, we’ll find the exact same experience. Does that sound like the same sort of society that would burn people at the stake?”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “So there are so many dangerous muggles that they need that much security just to keep them out? You’ve basically just told me that they’re _exactly_ what I already thought.”

“And there are no dangerous wizards? Voldemort is just, what, driven? The war is just a bit of a spat about ideology? Darkness exists in _humanity,_ Malfoy, not just muggles.”

Malfoy doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that, so Harry simply walks off in the direction of the gate. Malfoy follows behind without a word.

Neither of them have anything to say to each other until the plane is ready and they’re lining up to board, and Draco has to confront the fact that they’re actually going to get in one.

“Is it going to fall out of the sky? What can I expect?”

Harry laughs, but shrugs.

Draco eyes him warily. “You have actually _been_ on one, haven’t you?” he asks.

Harry smiles widely, not caring one whit about how frightened his travel companion now is. “Not even once.”

Draco throws his hands in the air. “Oh, great. So for all you know we could be heading straight to our deaths.”

“Yep,” Harry says calmly. “Now give the nice lady your ticket.”

Draco’s hands are unsteady as he hands over the ticket to the stewardess. She smiles sweetly at him and pats the top of his hand with her own.

“Anxious flier? Not to worry dear, it’s quite safe.”

Draco looks anything but comforted. Nevertheless, he follows Harry down the airbridge to the plane itself.

The hum of the engine can be heard as soon as they step on board, and it doesn’t look to do anything positive for Draco’s nerves. By the time they find their seats on the left side of the plane, he’s actually shaking.

“Relax, Malfoy. In six hours time we’ll be in Alexandria,” Harry says.

Draco looks up in alarm. “Six _hours?_ _”_

Harry shrugs. “You didn’t expect it to be as fast as a portkey, did you?”

“You expect me to stay in this metal tube for _six hours?_ ” He says, now almost yelling, and getting up from his seat.

A woman sitting in the centre aisle looks across sympathetically. “You poor thing. I used to hate flying myself, but there’s really nothing to it. We’ll be there safe and sound in no time, I promise.”

Draco barely even acknowledges that she said anything at all. The woman takes the hint and turns forwards again, but Draco’s rudeness gives Harry an idea.

“The scion of the great house of Malfoy, having to be comforted by muggles. What would daddy think?” Harry whispers, just loud enough for him to hear.

Draco glares, but sits back down.

“If this silly muggle contraption doesn’t kill us both first, I might end up killing you when we get to Alexandria,” Draco says.

Harry smiles and leans back into his seat.

When the plane takes off, Draco grips both handrests for dear life.

Harry is paying him no attention. Until now, none of this has seemed really _real_. Until now, part of him has still been expecting he would return to Hogwarts for another year with his friends - his family.

As of right now, his life is changed forever.

 


End file.
